


Arm’d with Hell flames and fury all at once

by liliumweiss



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Pupstravaganza
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2020-12-17 01:29:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21046064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liliumweiss/pseuds/liliumweiss
Summary: It should’ve been easy: hike up the hill, vanish the ghost, go back home, possibly without being killed or possessed in the meantime. But fighting monsters had never been easy, not even when hunters made it appear so. When hunting, things never go as planned, and sure as hell the girl you like doesn’t bring a puppy along, and you surely aren’t keeping very important secrets from your friends. Too bad said secrets won’t remain such for long, and that the dog hiding in the girl’s backpack isn’t exactly a regular dog.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kmomof4](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kmomof4/gifts).

> helloooooo there! And HAPPY BIRTHDAY @kmomof4 !!! My dear, may your day be beautiful and wonderful as you are ♥ This is my @cspupstravaganza contribution, but also my birthday gift for you. Well, part of it, since I also have another event coming up and this thing escalated a biiiiiiiit too much. I still hope you like it :3 (also, sorry, but no Walsh in here hehe)
> 
> Big, ginormous shoutout to @awkwardnessandbaseball and @snowbellewells for helping me with this fic - apparently, using not one, but two sets of eyes to go over your fic means you don’t need your glasses anymore. Thank you, dear ladies, you are awesome ♥

«Bloody ley lines.»

Killian looked at the sky. No, he _glared_ at it.

Storybrooke, Maine, an almost deserted town in the middle of nowhere, next to the ocean. Peculiarity of said little town was its location. No, not quite the middle of nowhere, but its longitude and latitude, which corresponded to the intersection of several ley lines. Not just two. _Several_.

«You say something, Jones?»

Will's voice startled him, and all his gracefulness left him, sending him almost face first on the muddy ground.

At least his reflexes weren't useless, unlike his sixth sense, or whatever one might call his superpower of sorts. The ley lines kept fucking it up, to put it nicely, always messing with his perception of supernatural beings.

Ah, yes. Right. The supernatural beings.

Well, ley lines were important vessels of pure magic, their intersections places where witches and warlocks performed rituals - and sometimes even summoned… _things_.

Said intersections were also the most common places where to find dangerous creatures.

Perhaps dangerous wasn't the right adjective, though. Or rather, it was, but much like there were evil witches, there were also good ones. And werewolves, too. Vampires… jury was still out on that one.

«Nay, Scarlett, it’s not as if I have any air left in my lungs to even breathe!»

That was a lie, of course. Not only because he’d just formed a sentence, but because of the ley lines as well.

Why he’d stayed in Storybrooke was beyond him. Well, that was another lie.

He looked back, where a blonde young woman was struggling with the steep slope, her palms and fingers red and covered in scratches as she tightened her grip on the lowest branch she could reach.

Killian bit his lower lip, ultimately letting himself slip lower to help her up. When she gave him a grateful smile, Killian felt all the air leave his lungs. So much for still being able to breathe. That happened quite often when Emma Swan was involved. Or was not. Even just a mention of her name was enough to make his heart beat wildly in his chest. And leave him breathless, apparently.

«You are all drama queens.» Will rolled his eyes, resuming the hike.

«Do you think I’d go to hell if I shot him?»

It took Killian a few moments before realizing Emma was speaking to him, too focused on her hand resting on his forearm. When he did, his complexion turned as red as the berries growing in a bush a few feet from them «I-I think they’d make you a Saint instead.»

_Smooth, Jones, bloody smooth_.

The faint blush colouring the apples of her cheeks made him grin.

«Hey, lovebirds,» Robin shouted from way above them, somewhere beyond the trees in their line of sight, «stop whatever you are doing that’s scaring the squirrels and keep walking!»

Killian choked on air whilst Emma’s face was so red it started to radiate heat.

The two of them being lovebirds was a common joke among their friends, borne out of nowhere - or so they thought, because they totally didn’t yearn or make eyes at each other - and no one ever let the occasion to say something about them slip away. For their part, Emma and Killian just rolled their eyes, flushing red, of course, but dismissed those jokes with a shrug or a wave of the hand.

«You think in Heaven they’ll have space for two Saints if we kill them both?» Emma muttered, adjusting the strap of the admittedly huge backpack she was carrying. It wasn’t like her to carry such bulky baggage. Usually, in fact, all she required were several daggers hidden all over her body - and Killian definitely had never dreamt of searching for those daggers himself, _ever_ \- and the occasional wooden stick to stab vampires with. And her trusted gun with magazines of silver bullets. She couldn't possibly be carrying a crossbow in there. Besides, there was something about it that didn't sit quite right with him, now that he looked at it more closely.

His attention snapped back to Emma herself when she moved forward, using him as a support. Why couldn't they go find haunted houses near the sea? Or take the actual road to get there? It wasn't as if ghosts could escape the confines of the property they haunted.

But no, Robin had suggested they take the unmarked trail through the woods, never mentioning the climb to get to the tumbledown house.

«We'd better go now. Neither of us is as good at tracking as those two.»

Killian quirked a brow at Emma's words. «Speak for yourself, love. I am indeed very good at navigating the sea, whether it be made of water or wood.»

Emma looked at him, one eyebrow raised in amusement. She opened her mouth to say something surely cutting but was interrupted by a piercing whistle.

«If I'm sent to Hell, Jones, I'll drag you down with me.»

With that, Emma left a gulping and an alarmingly pale Killian behind.

-/-

The house was exactly the one a brochure would assure you was haunted. Which, by the way, it _was_, but whenever real estate agents claimed a ghost wandered through the halls, all they meant was the abundance of whispers the wind generated and the sinister creaking sounds created by whatever phenomenon had the almost rotten wooden floorboards emit said noise. And they never talked about the cottage deep inside the forest nearby, into which a couple had just moved in with their newborn child and the crying sound one could hear was not some kind of ghost of a child.

However, the houses listed as haunted, were never actually so. This one, instead, was. What was worse, was that it wasn’t haunted by a mere spirit, it was haunted by a bloody witch.

Killian could feel it, he could feel _her_ and her power. It was a welcome side effect of his nature, to be able to sense supernatural beings. In the case of Emma Swan, it was a curse. He should’ve told her. He should’ve told her many things, first of all that she was a witch, or half-witch, he had no idea who her parents were, much like she didn’t.

But, of course, he hadn’t, and now it was too late.

The moment they’d settled their eyes on the house, they all knew something was wrong, _really _wrong. Whilst neither Robin or Will were in possession of any kind of powers, they both were seasoned hunters, and whereas their skills were more indicated to hunt down wendigos or woodland creatures, they were deadly against most of all the other beings. They still hunted down werewolves, if they needed to, but Robin’s men had stipulated a truce with those creatures after his son, Roland, was bitten, turning into a were himself. It wasn’t easy, but everyone was making an effort in the name of their love for Roland.

Emma and Killian weren’t exactly part of Robin’s men, they were loners - in more ways than one. Given their young age, both of them not even being twenty-five years old yet, Robin had taken them in. Sort of. They still lived their separate lives, but they hunted together, giving Killian and Emma a purpose.

All around them, the place was quiet, _too_ quiet, too _still_, unnaturally so.

Therefore, when Emma’s backpack started to whine, three pair of eyes glared at her - in Killian’s case, _stared_; he wasn’t able to glare at her, unless he was extremely pissed off. It didn't happen often, not with Emma, at least.

Her usually pale complexion turned a bright pink; for the first time, Killian witnessed Emma Swan being truly and utterly embarrassed, so much so that her blush had reached her hairline.

«What the bloody buggerin' hell do you have in that bloody backpack?» Will hissed, moving to stand next to her, wrenching one of the straps from her shoulder.

Emma hissed, clearly both in pain and anger, her eyes reducing to two slits. «What the fuck, Scarlett?»

Her protest fell on deaf ears because the backpack was _literally_ torn open and something black fell on the ground in a heap of four… _five_ legs? No, no, there were four of those, _and_ a tail. A long one. A, black, fluffy one. It wasn’t the only fluffy thing, though, _everything_ of that _creature_ was black and fluffy and-

«Why the bloody hell did you bring that bloody thing here of all the bloody places on this bloody buggering earth?»

The amount of “bloody” Will managed to insert in that sentence was nothing compared to whatever _bloody_ that creature could do. Killian’s eyes widened when he realized what it was, something he’d never seen but knew about. And the stories he’d heard did not have a happy ending.

«_Fenrir_ is a dog, as you can clearly see, Scarlett. Do I need to tell Whale to check your eyes?» Emma snapped, staring daggers at the man as she knelt down to check on the pup, who was wagging his tail. When he started to lick Emma’s fingers, Killian sucked in a breath. Everything he was seeing was making all his beliefs on the matter crumble.

«Swan,» he tried, stepping closer. He needed to warn her, he needed to-

The dog turned his head, his whole body going still the moment his golden brown eyes fell on Killian. It was as if he’d suddenly heard his master’s words.

An odd and chilling sensation settled deep inside Killian’s bones.

And then, the dog’s eyes began to glow a deep, dark red.

«What-»

«Bloody hell!»

«Fuck.»

Killian couldn’t even find it in himself to sigh, too worried about what would happen now.

«What the hell is that?» Robin finally decided to intervene, the grip on his bow getting firmer, the fingers of his free hand twitching, clearly desiring to notch an arrow and shoot the creature.

«_That_, Robin, is a hellhound.»

Everyone stared at Killian, jaws dropping in disbelief. «He’s a _what_?» Emma asked, pulling her hand away and standing. When she stepped away from the dog, something inside of Killian died a bit. If this was her reaction to a simple dog, she would cut him out completely once she knew about his true nature.

«_How_ do you know that?»

«Yes, darling, how do you know?»

Killian whirled around, dread tightening its icy fingers around him like a vice, making him feel as if he'd been drowning and the water had frozen over all around him, encasing him in its deadly embrace.

He knew that voice, and he should've thought about it before embarking on this let's-hunt-a-ghost adventure.

His brother's voice was damning him in seven different languages from the ether for forgetting about the woman who'd killed him and their mother. The woman Killian had killed.

«Eloise,» he spat, unconsciously moving in front of Emma. They didn't know what Eloise was capable of; they didn't know how dangerous she was. There was an absurd lack of knowledge lately, it might have been better if they'd just forgotten all about monsters and whatnot for the rest of their lives, especially since said lives seemed to shorten by the minute.

The fluctuating ghost squinted, glaring at Killian as her upper lip curled in a light snarl. Killian's mouth quirked, almost betraying a smile. Oh, she still hated to be called with the pseudonym she'd used to infiltrate his family's life.

There was always a drop of contentment when you managed to succeed in irritating your adversary when facing certain death.

«Jones,» Robin cut in, fingers brushing the feathers at the back of the arrow he’d grabbed, «how?»

Killian knew he wasn’t asking him how he knew Eloise, not now: he was asking him how to take her down, if he knew where her bones were buried or if he knew another way to defeat her.

The ghost tilted her head, her lips curling into a cruel smirk. «Yes, _Jones_, do you know how to banish the ghost of the woman _you_ killed?»

Between the four of them, they’d killed their fair share of creatures, some more dangerous than others, therefore being accused of another death wasn’t strange. It _was_, however, when said accusation came straight from the victim.

Killian growled low in his throat. «I only wish I had considered you’d find a way to come back and torment me after killing my family.»

Eloise laughed, a deafening sound that still filled his nightmares. «Oh, Killian, you still are the same naïve young man you were years ago,» she patronized him, fluctuating closer and extending her right arm to take his chin between her thumb and forefinger. Even if she couldn’t touch him, his nature allowed him to sense her as if she was still alive. «There is no way a witch as powerful as your mother could care for someone, not even the fruits of her own womb.» She pulled away, laughing quietly to herself. «Especially when they are the spawn of the demon who broke her heart.»

A massive shadow flew past Killian. It would’ve hit the witch straight in the chest if she’d been human. The hellhound, now looking more like a huge black wolf instead of a pup, got back on his legs, face low as if ready to attack her again, ready to protect his Master.

It wasn’t a coincidence the hellhound had showed up today, not the day _she_ had showed up again, haunting him so to finish what she’d started five years ago. At the time, he’d been just a lad of seventeen, the magic from his mother’s side reacting to his raging hormones and his father’s inheritance presenting just then, threatening to corrupt his soul.

A loud laugh echoed through the open space of what used to be a beautiful garden, Killian was sure of that. It reminded him-

«Bloody bastard,» he seethed, recognizing this place as his childhood home. He was certain it wasn’t the same place, not when that was in the outskirts of London and was kept by a nice butler named Smee. No, this was an illusion, an admirable one, especially for a dead witch.

_Bloody fuck_.

«We’re not alone,» Killian realized in a whisper, warning his friends at the same time.

As if summoned, cloaked figures emerged from the shadows cast by the trees.

«A coven,» Robin breathed, clearly scared. There was little that scared the man like a witch did, his beloved wife had died by the hand of one of the most cruel ones, whose half-sister bewitched him during a full moon night and conceived a daughter. Said daughter was now part of the Merry Men, had no ounce of magic flowing through her veins, and was a good archer herself. Robin’s hatred for witches was another reason why Killian had stayed silent about Emma and himself. Funny how now he wished he’d let her cultivate her magic. It would’ve made it easier.

The scenery around them changed drastically, more ruins scattered all over the place, the area like a green desert devoured by poison ivy and briars erupting from the center of the earth. A quick glance was all Killian needed to recognize that plant, that _magical_ remedy Eloise had claimed would cure Liam’s poisoned heart, a heart she’d poisoned herself to keep Killian away from him, to make him go against his mother’s wishes and ask Eloise for help. He’d been partially responsible for his family’s death, but had thought he’d avenged them. What a fool.

Killian’s jaw was clenched so tightly, it felt like it would disintegrate in a fraction of a second. «Do not touch that plant,» he warned his friends, hoping he could still call them ‘friends’ and that they would listen to him. At least about the dreamshade.

Warm fingers laced through his. Looking down, Killian found himself shocked to realize the hand holding his belonged to Emma. That shouldn’t be happening, she should’ve been scared, ready to kill him and pissed because he’d not told her the truth about his nature.

Instead, Emma just smiled, reassuring. «Let’s end this bitch and make sure there’ll be a later in which you’ll reply to all my questions, alright?»

Killian almost laughed. That was his Swan, the woman who’d bewitched him. What a relief it was that she’d not done that _literally_. He found himself nodding, squeezing her hand in return. She was real, she was alive. «There’s something you need to know, love,» Killian murmured in a hurry, knowing that Eloise was watching, listening, waiting for the right moment.

As if she was dying to prove just that, Eloise laughed. «Oh, my, Killian, you haven’t told her?» A tsk left her lips, head shaking; the way her many braids moved made her mane look like Medusa’s, evil snakes ready to end a life. Even if she was a ghost, the witch was powerful, Killian had known then and he knew it now, standing once more in front of her. She was crueler than most, and Killian had known his fair share of evil creatures. It was surprising, even with the past he had with her, that she’d managed to create a coven of witches clearly ready to reach her even in the land of the dead.

A thought shot through his mind, but was quickly cast aside when Emma spoke again, her nails digging into the flesh at his wrist. It was all she could do to keep herself in check, to restrain herself from asking Eloise what Killian had hidden from her. Unexpectedly, the hellhound growled. Killian cast him a quick glance, wondering. The hound snapped his head towards him, red eyes glowing in understanding. A thrill ran down Killian’s spine, excitement and terror mingling together.

«Oh, I don’t think so,» Eloise said, snapping Killian out of his thoughts. «Gretel,» she called, and the hound was enveloped in briars of nightshade, the thorns magically elongated to penetrate through his thick fur and pierce the skin.

The hound howled in despair, a blood-curdling sound which shot painfully through Killian’s heart. There were legends about hellhounds, that they were born with a demon and would stand by them for eternity, and even if they weren’t linked from birth, they could serve under only one demon forever, becoming their companion.

As far as he knew, Killian had never seen the dog before, but in that moment he couldn’t deny it: they were bonded, somehow.

And, somehow, they had to find a way to free him. The poison wouldn’t kill him, but it would make him weak, and the tight grip the briars had on him made it impossible for the hound to move.

He was their only chance to destroy Eloise for good.

Unless, of course, a miracle happened, but “up there”, they had never been much for helping.

A choked scream and the dull sound of a body falling to the leaves-covered ground made Killian look towards the treeline, where a cloak was gathered in a heap, its hood not revealing the face beneath. It wasn’t the body itself that caught the attention, but the arrow stuck in the woman’s chest, emerging proudly from it.

He couldn’t help but look back, disbelieving eyes settling on a quite smug Robin.

The man just shrugged, totally looking like one of those western characters that would’ve blown the steam away from a Colt after a perfect shot. «Zelena _was_ a bit helpful,» he said, grabbing another arrow, arrow that was apparently capable to penetrate through some magical shield and that the witches couldn’t just push away with a wave of their hand.

He didn’t want to think about it much.

Eloise looked enraged.

«As you can see, Eloise-»

«It’s Mother _Gothel_,» she screeched like a banshee. In less than a second, a clap of thunder pierced the air and their ears.

She wasn’t supposed to have powers. _She was also supposed to be dead_, Killian hissed to himself. But no, it wasn’t her magic, it was her coven’s. How she could master it, however, was a mystery he didn’t care to uncover, too afraid it would corrupt him irredeemably. All his life, Killian had walked a thin line, like a funambulist balancing on a tightrope, trying not to succumb to the darkness inside him calling, tempting him. And oh, was he so tempted right now. But he couldn’t: he had too much at stake.

For the right cause, though, he might.

«Funny,» Killian ground through his teeth, «you’ve entered my life as Eloise, and left it as such. I know no Gothel, and you certainly are no mother.»

The moment the last word left his mouth, Killian raised his left arm, creating a barrier between them and Eloise’s ghost, keeping the witches on the other side as well.

For a few, interminable seconds, nobody spoke. It was as if time had stopped completely.

«Why the bloody hell didn’t you do that earlier?» Will asked in indignation.

Killian whirled around and looked at him, shock marring his features even if he was quick to school it. «And risk being hit by one of Rob's arrows? Thank you, but no, thank you.»

Will huffed, shaking his head. He was clearly about to say something snarky but a whimper left him speechless. What left Killian speechless, though, was Will striding to the briars and cutting them with impressive accuracy, careful not to touch the thorns. Killian had to bite his tongue not to warn him about them again.

Once free, the hound shook his whole body, black blood leaking from the puncture wounds and darkening the fur. Killian felt his heart ache at the sight, the dog’s pain seeping into his soul as if it was his own.

Still maintaining the barrier up, aware of the numerous spells being cast against it. Storing up his magic for years might have made him weak in certain aspects, but he still had the strength of a demon. Eloise had chosen the wrong hybrid to mess with. _Fool me once_…

«Shhh,» Killian gently hushed the hound, who leaned his head into Killian’s open palm when he brought it up to brush the soft fur, kneeling on the ground. The dog nosed his palm, leaving a cold wetness behind. He could feel a rush of power between them, their bond serving as a healing spell and so much more: Killian could sense the hound’s wounds remarginate and his pain slowly quench.

It was like the vibrating sound of a music note, the sensation penetrating Killian’s entire body, settling deep inside his bones where it kept humming quietly, still present and impossible to forget about.

The hound opened his mouth, panting, and his tongue lolled out in the resemblance of a smile which Killian reciprocated, a spark of normality - as much as a bond between a hybrid and a hellhound could be - in the very middle of a war.

A moment later, when another spell hit the barrier, the hound moved a few steps back, starting to tremble slightly.

Knowing what was about to happen, Killian rushed back to his feet. «Stay back,» he whispered, hand connecting with Emma’s arm. He didn’t look at her, not wanting to face whatever emotion he would read in her wonderful jade eyes. Anger, disappointment, sadness… he deserved it all.

«Jones?» Will asked in mild panic, eyes almost falling out of his head, watching as the hound slowly grew in height and mass in front of them. A quick glance at Eloise’s raging expression made Killian’s smirk widen.

When the hound stopped trembling, he stretched on his front legs, deadly sharp nails clawing at the ground, his tail curling over his back.

Will blanched visibly once the hound stood in all his magnificence, his withers reaching Killian’s shoulders.

«Bloody hell.»

«Magnificent,» Killian breathed, the demonic beauty of the hound was breathtaking, enchanting, even. _The charm of evil_.

The blood red eyes of the hound gleamed, breaking Killian out of his reverie. As much as he would’ve loved to take his time to bond with his new friend, time was running out. He turned to Emma, her unintelligible expression a wound to his heart.

«Swan,» he said, almost taking her hands in his before thinking twice about it and curling his fingers into fists, nails biting painfully into his palms. «We need to create a portal to hell.»

«_We_?» she asked, shock breaking through her emotions like the sun on a cloudy day.

«_Hell_?»

After all that was sorted out, they would need to check Will’s mental health: all of these new bits of information and emotions were taking their toll on him.

Robin, meanwhile, just rolled his eyes. It was strange, how calm he was about all of this, as if he knew. Or, perhaps, he was just very good at bottling everything up under pressure, which was something to give him credit for.

«Aye, love, _we_.» Killian took a deep breath, closing his eyes briefly. «Forgive my bluntness, I wish I’d told you all of this sooner. You have magic, Emma. Someone, a warlock or witch, must have locked it with their magic-»

«Someone put a spell on me?»

A smile threatened to appear on his face. «As a matter of fact, yes. Someone did, and if we had the time, I could try and search for their signature, but we don’t. I can, however, unlock your magic. After this, we need to create a portal to hell to allow my hound to get to my father.» Killian rushed out the last sentence, ashamed of his parentage. No, not quite ashamed of who he was, but of how he would be perceived by Emma. His mother had been an exception, but there was a question that had haunted him for years: who could ever love a demon?

Emma held his gaze, studying him, searching for a lie, a trick, something that had changed in Killian in the last few minutes, and he couldn’t help but hold his breath, hoping the knowledge that he wasn’t completely human wouldn’t break the trust she placed him.

Whatever doubt she had, even the most quiet alarm bell in the back of her mind, meant nothing, _was_ nothing: what Killian was wouldn’t change _who_ he was, not to her eyes.

«Do it.» It was barely a whisper, yet Killian heard it. When disbelief morphed his features, Emma squeezed his hands, pronouncing three words she’d never told anyone: «I trust you.»

Killian’s mouth hung open, her confession clearly unexpected. It shouldn’t have surprised him: everything Emma Swan did was unexpected.

For the briefest moment, he wondered how kissing her would make things turn out. For everyone’s sake, it was best he didn’t. Later, perhaps.

«The barrier won’t hold for much longer,» he said hurriedly, his spell weakening already. _Too soon_. «Unlocking your magic will drain mine, as will the ritual to open the portal. I’ll need to access your magic, and to do so, I’ll need you to trust me. Completely.»

If he thought he’d see even the barest flicker of doubt in her eyes, Killian found himself pleasantly disappointed by his own assumptions. There was no trace of distrust, and if another spell hadn’t hit the barrier and the hound hadn’t growled in warning, Killian would’ve kissed her.

Forcing himself to look away from Emma, he looked at Robin and a still shell-shocked Will. «The moment the portal closes, the barrier won’t protect you anymore. You have to be ready.»

Robin nodded, readying the arrows. He was scanning his surroundings, clearly going over his own shooting strategy again. «How long until your new… _mate_ comes back?»

Killian sighed. He feared what would happen next. Summoning a Prince of Hell - nay, _begging_ him to come without a proper ritual - would entail destruction, death, some even believed the Apocalypse. Only once had he been summoned, and it had ended up with him falling in love with a witch.

_What a coincidence_, Killian mused, then shook his head.

«Hopefully, not much.» And he meant it: time in Hell ran differently, it either stretched or sped up depending on which nightmare the devil or a demon torturer wanted their victim to relive. Demons had quite the twisted sense of justice, more leaning towards vengeance. Yet, they would still call it justice, and sometimes Killian found himself wondering when exactly the line was crossed.

Once Robin nodded, slowly, assimilating this new information, Killian nodded back.

Taking a deep breath, he turned to Emma, grateful no hesitation could be seen on her face. His heart skipped a beat or two, the faith she was putting in him an unbelievable concept to him. Shaking off any uncertainty he may have, Killian curled his fingers around hers. «Follow my lead. Whatever you do, please, please, don’t let go until it’s over.»

Emma nodded, and whatever fear Killian had finally loosened its grip on him. He might not have practiced much in the last years, but growing up, he’d read his mother’s and ancestors’ grimoire over and over, memorizing spells and potions of all kinds: if there was something Killian Jones knew as the back of his hand, was magic.

Closing his eyes brought darkness, yet he could feel and hear everything that was going on around him, every breath of air, every spell sent their way, the tremors shaking the still-standing barrier between them and certain death.

And then, he sensed it, his magic.

It was neither pure or dark, it was just magic, made to be used whether for bad or good, but never defined by its own nature. It purred like a cat, stretching just like a feline until it was ready to attack, to spread death all around whether he allowed it to.

_Not now_, he hushed it gently, making it almost pout in disappointment. He chuckled inwardly before settling into a more serious attitude.

As if without any rush, Killian let his magic flow from him to Emma, the enchantment he knew - the one he’d searched for just in case, the one he’d studied night and day and wondered if it would ever be useful - already on his lips.

Words could only describe the blocking spell someone had cast on Emma as such: a plug preventing the water to descend into a drain, a cork forced into a glass bottle, a tightly fastened iron well curb, yet clearly something that wasn’t easily removable.

For Killian, such a spell wasn’t an easy task, and his mother was a clearly better witch, but he wasn’t stupid either. Yet, when his magic touched the block, he recognized it like he would recognize Alice’s embrace when he came home from school, excited to tell her about his days.

It took him all his strength not to open his eyes and let go of Emma’s hands in shock.

_Mum_, he thought sadly, longingly, wanting to make the moment last a little bit longer when wishing for more time wasn’t an option.

Her warm smile flashed before his closed eyes, and Killian tugged gently at the block as if he were a ribbon on a gift, his mom’s magic dissolving like ripples on the water’s surface when they were too far out of reach, much like Alice Jones was.

Killian had no idea why she’d blocked Emma’s magic, answers could be found later, cried and fought upon, but now there were more pressing matters at hand.

It was as if the block had waited for him to free the magic inside of the loner girl haunting his dreams; if this was destiny or not, Killian hadn’t the faintest idea.

A gasp pierced his focused mind. Emma’s palms were slick with sweat against his, but she didn’t let go, tightening her grip on his hands. Her fingers were holding on so tightly he knew they’d leave faint bruises in their wake.

_Stay with me_, Killian murmured in her mind, using his own presence and magic to calm her. Through their connection, Killian could sense how she felt, her terror, how she was overwhelmed yet felt complete, and that spark of curiosity would soon become a bonfire, that he knew for sure: when he’d been a child, he’d felt just like that.

Sadness broke through all those emotions, and Killian was surprised and ashamed when he realized Emma, too, could feel _him_. He had clearly underestimated this connection, far more intimate than he’d thought it would be.

Her magic and Killian’s touched, creating inside them tiny fireworks with the power of a thousand suns. Had it happened during some other moment, a more private, intimate one, they would’ve let it consume them, and it wasn’t the first time Killian fantasized-

Nails dug gently into his skin.

Biting back his smirk, Killian let himself admire Emma’s magic - so unbelievably pure - before focusing on the other spell.

Many were the ways to create a portal between worlds, or realms, as Killian preferred to call them, but only one was the way to summon a portal to Hell, very different than summoning demons, and more dangerous as well.

The only way in - and out, for that matter - consisted of pronouncing a simple spell in an archaic language known to demons only, and a demon’s blood.

The moment he changed his hold over her hand and placed it above the other two, a surge of power shot through his right arm. Freeing his hand from Emma’s hold but making sure she wouldn’t let go of him, Killian held out his arm, the sleeve riding up enough to expose his wrist.

He felt confusion coming from Emma, and he squeezed her hand in return, reassuring her everything was alright and getting a squeeze from both her hands in return, but it all disappeared when a stinging pain shot up his forearm.

As gently as he could, the hellhound had pierced his skin, allowing four rivulets of blood to smear Killian’s pale skin. Thick drops of blood fell on the ground. As soon as they touched the earth, it began to shake.

Differently from what many believed, Hell wasn’t located at the center of the earth: much like other realms, it existed in parallel.

The earth shook, but didn’t open, not in a literal way. What appeared next to them was the mouth of a vortex, burgundy and black mingling together as flaming lightning appeared from time to time and Robin and Will’s eyes were dragged towards its center, a dreadful yet hypnotizing sight, much like all things evil.

Killian felt his knees weaken, and he locked them, holding onto Emma to support himself.

Sensing the hound’s hesitation, Killian uttered his strong order: «Go.»

In a matter of seconds, just as Killian felt the tip of the hound’s tail disappear, the portal closed.

The earth stopped shaking and, for a few instants, everything became still.

Until Killian’s knees hit the ground, and the barrier around them shattered.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now, this piece comes to an end!!! I can’t wait for y’all to read it and I’m so excited to hear your thoughts! 
> 
> Thank you so much to @profdanglaisstuff for creating the amazingness (?) that is @cspupstravaganza; thank you ladies of the discord chat; thank you @awkwardnessandbaseball and @snowbellewells for being awesome betas; thank you @hollyethecurious for listen to my ramblings and pushing me to write what I did without overthinking it too much; thank you @carpedzem for your patience.
> 
> @thisonesatellite this one is for you, because you deserve pup love - with angst, tho - and I’ll be sending a virtual Fenrir to cuddle with you as you sleep the influence off ♥

An eerie quiet fell over the clearing.

No, quiet wasn’t the word: it was as if they’d been deafened by a bomb, their hearing coming back slowly, dull at first, and then, suddenly, too loud to bear.

Emma gritted her teeth, her hand coming up to cradle her head. As soon as the whistling sound in her ears diminished, she blinked, eyes adjusting to the light.

She felt… light, in a strange, very physical way. It was as if someone had just freed her of a weight comparable to Atlas’, one she never knew she was carrying, not until Killian-

_Killian!_

Her eyes found him curled on the ground, dark blood leaking from the wound left by the hellound’s mouth but still breathing, though weakly.

Stupidly or not, she knelt next to him, ignoring the threat that was Gothel, especially now that Killian’s barrier could protect them no more.

Her breath caught in her throat when she rolled Killian over. It wasn’t just due to the alarming whiteness of his face, but to the shocking realization that he was, indeed, part demon.

Dark horns sat atop his head, slightly curling backwards and then up, so pointed she knew one brush of her finger over the tip would draw blood. And they were… _beautiful_. Somehow, they completed him. Not that Killian needed to be completed, but she’d always known there was something _missing_. It was probably the reason why she’d always felt so connected to him: because she, as well, was incomplete.

With a sad smile, she brushed dark strands of hair from his cold forehead. «Wake up, please,» Emma pleaded, tears welling in her eyes.

Suddenly, her hand started to glow, a warm light that wasn’t warming _her_, but which was fuelled from within her, from the deep affection she felt for the young man on the ground.

As soon as Killian’s complexion started to gain colour, Emma cried out in pain as fire shot through her, unexpected and unwelcome.

«Did nobody tell you never to turn your back to your enemy, darling?» Gothel taunted Emma, her voice closer, her sickening accent curling around every word and coating them in too sweet honey that made Emma want to throw up.

Still sat on the ground, Emma turned around, one hand applying pressure to the bleeding wound, dirt and blood drenching her skin and soaking the fabric of her ruined top.

A snarky comeback was on the tip of her tongue, ready to be fired like one of Robin’s deadly arrows or Will’s sharp knives, but any word she might have had for Gothel was forgotten when she saw a fireball crackle above the ghost’s cupped palm as if she was cradling it with the same delicacy one would a newborn’s head.

Emma’s mind went blank.

There was no way in Heaven or Hell that Gothel could still be able to perform any kind of magic. What was scarier about ghosts was the ability to possess the living, sometimes managing to do it forever, if they took good care of their… _vessel_.

Emma felt bile rise in her throat at the thought.

But this wasn’t a possession, no, Gothel’s appearance still was transparent, no human body in sight.

Emma frowned, wondering how. It was her curiosity, the same one that killed the cat, that had her tilt her head to the side, seeking for an answer.

But soon, the unusual silence caused her heartbeat to quicken in dread.

When her eyes fell on Robin's body on the ground, Emma felt a scream rise in her throat. She knew, without having to look, that she would find Will in the same situation, hopefully just knocked down.

How stupid she'd been, focusing on Killian when her other two friends were facing the coven.

_No, love, not stupid_, she heard Killian's voice whispering in her ear, the tone so warm she almost melted.

Yet, she had nothing to fight the ghost and the whole coven with.

_Not true, love_, Killian seemed to murmur next to her. Emma knew he wasn’t awake, that he was still unconscious on the ground behind her. Perhaps… was it the spell he’d used to remove the block that contained her magic? Was it some kind of residue power, his own magic coursing through her and threading with hers? It was a new, strange, and unexpectedly welcome sensation that made her stomach flutter.

She didn’t have the time to dwell on this new feeling. Instead, she locked her jaw and stared daggers at the ghost, wishing she could physically hurt her.

Though she had magic now, Emma didn’t know any spells, more like an impulsive reaction that caused _something_. Suddenly, she felt stupid: she’d studied witches, kept herself away from them, but still did her research, and yet, now she had no weapon to use against a fucking ghost capable of throwing fireballs at her.

_Magic is emotion, Emma, not just spells._

Her breath caught in her throat. It hadn’t been Killian’s voice the one she heard, it belonged to a woman with a deep English accent.

Was-

_No_, Emma shook off that thought. It couldn’t be. Alice Jones was dead, there was no way she was speaking to her now as if she’d left some kind of voicemail in which she told Emma what the hell she should do.

«Why do you want him dead?» Emma heard herself ask. She hoped pushing Gothel towards a monologue could give her time. Villains always wanted to be megalomaniacs, didn’t they? They wanted to have the scene to themselves, making a mistake in their ambition.

With Gothel, however, nothing was certain, and Emma knew not to underestimate her, especially not when her shoulder still ached and there was a fireball with her name on it.

Gothel’s lips turned upwards in a shady, bloodcurdling smile. «Dead?» she scoffed, her accent thick, «I don’t want him dead, I want him to live his immortal life suffering the pains of Hell.» The woman started to laugh at her own joke.

Emma raised an eyebrow at that, unimpressed.

«Why? What has he done to you?»

Another excess of laughter shook Gothel. «Why, you ask? Your precious Killian killed me, isn’t that reason enough for me to want him to suffer?»

Emma tilted her head to the side. There was definitely more to it: everything Gothel had done, from infiltrating his family under the name of Eloise, to killing Killian’s brother and probably even his mother, was undoubtedly a vendetta. For some reason, she’d chosen Killian to be the ultimate victim of her contorted plan, but her sixth sense told Emma he wasn’t the first piece of domino, but the last one to fall.

Something - doubt, maybe - must’ve shone through her eyes because Gothel narrowed her own, looking at her from her elevated position, towering over Emma. Then, all of a sudden, her mouth broke into a grin. «You want the truth, don’t you?»

The question had Emma’s stomach in a knot. While yes, she wanted to know the truth behind the ghost’s cruel revenge, there was another part of her, one that trembled like an autumn leaf under the winds of winter, that wanted to know how could she have magic and why she’d never known about it until now.

It was when Gothel started to talk once again that Emma realized she’d nodded, answering her question and all it implied. Deep down, she knew the truth would better be kept buried, but she also needed time to study her opponents and for Killian to, hopefully, regain consciousness.

«The truth is, dear, that Alice was jealous of me and my power. Her magic wasn’t a match for mine, and yet, she thought she could just dethrone _me_. I’d been the one to find her and make her into the woman she was.» Disdain coated her voice, her nose scrunched in disgust. «How was I to know she would turn into a traitor?»

There was something Emma could only identify as _regret_ flashing across her face, for only a fraction of a second that was forgotten when she went on.

«But wanting to take my role of _Mother_ wasn’t enough for dear Alice, no, she took the most important man in my life away from me as well!» Gothel snarled. It was good she wasn’t human and in complete control of her magic, because her ire could make the earth shake and she would probably affect the weather as well.

But the earth was shaking, albeit slightly. Emma swallowed a gasp of surprise, wide eyes still settled on the ghost so not to give anything away.

Something was going to happen, and soon, and probably for the first time that day, Emma was glad the witch was dead: unless one of her coven warned her, she wouldn’t see it coming. Whatever _it_ was. Emma shouldn’t probably feel as delighted as she did: her friends were still unconscious and her only strategy right now was to have Gothel talk for as long as possible. If she tried to attack her or one of her disciples, she would burn.

Gulping, Emma tried to buy herself more time. Or rather, she did that for whatever - or _whoever_ \- was coming.

«She made him fall in love with her?»

Gothel laughed maniacally and cold settled inside Emma’s bones. If she’d believed the woman to be crazy until a few moments ago, the words which fell from her lips made Emma wish she had the means to vanquish her and all her devotées.

«Love? Demons _cannot_ love, sweet child, they are unable to, and before you delude yourself, their spawns can’t either.» The clear delight transpiring through Gothel’s words made Emma sick to her stomach, only for her to narrow her eyes, the dig only serving to fuel the fire inside her, deepening the growing hatred she felt. «It truly is a pity we didn’t meet when I was alive, even in death I can _sense_ your power and it would’ve been a delight to have you as my sister. That way, I could’ve taught you how to summon a demon, a high-ranked one, even.» She sighed, looking at the sky longingly. «That’s the ultimate quest, to tie a demon to you, to have him serve you, be your weapon against the whole world. Everything was ready, the sisters all called to witness my glory. Too late I realized Alice wasn’t among them, she’d run in the depths of the forest and summoned _my_ demon herself, _stealing_ him from me.»

The earth split open a few feet from Emma, the chasm erupting with flames and darkness. Inside her, her magic hummed, partially attracted to it but equally ready to protect Emma from the danger it represented.

She scooted backwards, her hand falling on the other side of Killian’s body to steady herself as a black figure emerged from the flames, landing right where her feet were a moment before.

Glowing red eyes locked with Emma’s, flooding her with an inexplicable sense of calmness. Fenrir’s presence made her feel protected; even for someone who showed others she was brave on the outside, Emma didn’t hate to feel relief at the thought that someone had her back. In fact, it made her feel loved.

The sound of a thunderstorm echoed all around. The hellhound turned around, protecting Emma and Killian with his huge body, but not even he could hide what was coming out of the crater.

Or rather, _who_.

The demon had his back to Emma, and though she could hardly believe it, he was dressed in what looked like an expensive tailored suit. Aside from his tall and lean figure, the only other thing she could pick up was his raven hair neatly tied in a low ponytail which curled slightly at the end.

It shocked her how that particular trait reminded her of the way Killian’s hair curled at the nape of his neck.

Then, a realization hit her: Killian had sent Fenrir to Hell to deliver a message, a cry for help, and not to anyone, but to his own father.

Clear as day was the way Killian always spoke of him, hatred laced to his every word, and pain, so much pain due to his abandonment.

She felt Killian’s body twitch beneath her. In any other moment, the way her torso was thrown over his and her closeness to him would’ve made her blush fiercely and step away. Right now, if she moved a few inches closer as she felt the need to protect him grow, well, no one would know.

A quick glance at his furrowed features told Emma he was coming back to her, causing her heart to swell in her chest.

«Gothel.»

It was a greeting and an insult at the same time, the cold tone in which he spoke making Emma believe winter had come early.

«Belial.»

Emma had to give it to the ghost: despite the clear terror drawn on her face, she managed to sound cold and unaffected. Too bad she wasn't, and the demon knew it.

Another thing she noticed was how the fireball extinguished in a hiss, and not by Gothel's doing.

The ghost lifted her chin in challenge. «I never thought I'd see you again.»

Had she used another tone of voice and had a different expression on her face, Emma would've thought she was trying to flirt with him. Perhaps she was, given how twisted her mind was.

«Believe me, witch, I certainly hoped I wouldn't.»

Gothel had the courage to scoff before her lips curled up in a sadistic smile. «I thought I would’ve had the pleasure when I killed your precious Liam and dearest Alice, but you didn’t show up for that tea party, did you?»

Why the hell she was taunting him, Emma had no idea. Had she been in Gothel’s position, she would’ve vanished forever, never to reappear again. But the dead witch wasn’t a normal person, her mind too twisted and thirsty for power to know where the line was or when to stop.

But Belial was calm, not showing any sign of tension. On his face, Emma could just see a smile forming despite the clear jab. It now made sense: Killian’s father hadn’t been there most of his life, but he’d not been there during the most crucial moment of it, he’d not protected his family when he had all the means to. So why was he here now?

«Bravery won’t let you leave this place as intact as a ghost might be, Gothel, so don’t try to pretend you’re not dreading the outcome of this meeting. After all, you killed the woman I love and my firstborn. The fact that Killian took the pleasure of ending your life doesn’t mean that I don’t want revenge for what you did myself.»

The demon’s speech was so… _diplomatic_, and yet still a warning. No, not a warning, a _promise_: he was way more powerful than Gothel and her new coven. Emma arched an eyebrow as she saw some hoods shift, probably wanting to run as far away as they could.

For a moment, she wondered if Belial would let them go or if he’d hold them accountable for helping the witch. He probably wouldn’t give them the chance to escape.

A chill ran down her spine as sudden shockwave rolled off from Belial’s outstretched hand, knocking out the witches. Only when the capes gathered on the floor in a heap and smoke rose from the gaps, Emma realized he’d not just defeated them momentarily: he’d _destroyed _them.

Unconsciously, Emma got closer to Killian, the hand she had on the ground finding its way to his shoulder. In some way, she needed to make sure he wouldn’t disappear anytime soon. Frantically, Emma searched for her two friends, letting out a sigh of relief when she saw them still intact.

Gothel hissed, her eyes glowing in a way that would’ve had anyone die of fear as if seeing a ghost wasn’t enough. «This isn’t over, Belial.»

«Oh, but it is, Gothel,» the demon promised. «You have done enough and you are right, I wasn’t there when you killed two of the people I love the most, and there’s not a day that goes by in which I don’t damn myself for it, but I won’t stay put this time.»

But Gothel smiled once more, spectral eyes locking with Emma’s. «Too bad your son has acted foolishly once again. First he doesn’t burn _all_ my bones the way a witch’s are supposed to be and now he unlocks the girl’s magic?» She shook her head with a sigh, the thick braids swaying with the movement. «I hope he didn’t think I wouldn’t recognize the magic of my descendant just because I’m dead.»

_Descendant?!_

Emma’s mind suddenly felt very empty, as if she were floating on the water’s surface right in the middle of nothing.

All her life, Emma had never known who her parents were: she was no one, anonymous, a lost girl with just a blanket with her name stitched on it, and yet now she not only discovered magic flowed in her veins, but her… her _mother_ was a dead witch who’d killed Killian’s family?

At first, it felt like an earthquake, spreading beneath the ground and shaking everything anchored to the soil, only to concentrate right under Emma like a nucleus of raw power.

And power it was, indeed. Only, it didn’t come from another realm, nor from the demon whose head was tilted on the side and slightly backwards, as if he was listening to something Emma couldn’t hear, and it didn’t come from the ghost either, her smile impossibly wider.

_Magic is emotion_.

The female voice rang again inside Emma’s head, its owner now clear. Alice was speaking to her, guiding her through the labyrinth of darkness and uncertainty as she plunged deep into the unknown.

Heat danced on the tips of her fingers, causing the air to crackle in the same way it would when in contact with exposed cables. Hard was the ground when her nails dug into it, the rumble of something shifting in the depths of the earth making her gasp in fear.

She almost screamed, almost exploded as if her body actually was electrically charged, waiting for the last push to create a disaster, when something warm wrapped around her upper arm.

Disappointment flooded her when, looking down, she wasn't met with sparkling blue eyes, seeing only closed eyelids instead.

Her attention was dragged away involuntarily, everything inside her screaming not to look away, to just hold Killian closer and focus on him and him alone. The turmoil inside of her had calmed slightly, the earth not trembling anymore even though her palms still itched.

Reluctantly dragging her eyes away from Killian, Emma gave Gothel a hard stare, chin lifted. If it was all true, and every tiny bit of information collected today, more than she ever had in years, seemed to confirm so, then Gothel would certainly not find the warmth of a daughter eager to meet her mother. Not after all this time, not after what she did.

Gothel’s eyes harboured maniacal satisfaction, her face a mask that belonged to the darkest of nightmares, the ones people prayed to forget.

Terror settled deep into Emma’s bones, not stopping until every cell of her body was inhabited by fear in its purest form, filling her until there was space for nothing else. Under other circumstances, she would’ve fought through it, through the paralyzing sensation that left her no strength to move a limb.

Her vision swayed a little, or she did, everything vibrating so violently trees would probably start to fall soon and the fragile house would come crumbling to the ground in a matter of seconds if it didn’t stop.

Something wet and warm brushed her cheek, causing shock to ripple in waves through her.

And then, just as Gothel’s form disappeared into thin air only to reappear closer and lunge forward, clawing hands reaching out to grasp her, inside Emma something snapped.

It felt like a bomb going off somewhere near her heart, forcing the girl to thrust her arm in front of her and turn her head, crouching over Killian as she was blinded by the light, the need to protect _him_ stronger than any other feeling.

Somewhere, a woman screamed.

For the second time that day, Emma felt deaf to the world. Nothing moved, no one spoke, nothing seemed to breathe.

This time, every little noise came back to her slowly, giving her time to gradually adjust to her newfound hearing. She registered sharp intakes of breath before realizing her lungs were burning because of the lack of air.

A loud rhythmic thumping sound filled her ears, somehow reverberating through all her body like a shockwave. It wasn’t unpleasant: if anything, she wanted to keep listening to it a little while longer.

A gentle weight settled on the back of her head, what definitely were fingers threading through messy strands of hair to massage her scalp. A moan almost tumbled from her lips before she realized someone was actually running their fingers along the back of her head, sometimes slowly descending to the nape of her neck to toy with the short curls there.

So focused on what she could feel, Emma didn't hear the soft voice whispering to her that everything was okay now. Only when the soft British accent registered in her mind, not helping her sudden need to snuggle closer to the source of heat and sleep until she woke up in the next millennium, Emma’s eyes blew open.

Planting her hands on Killian’s chest, she pushed up in a rush, knocking the wind out of him as well as dragging a groan from his lips.

«You are alive!»

Suddenly, Emma launched herself forward, peppering Killian's face with kisses. Never before had she been so affectionate with him: maybe a hug once or twice, perhaps a kiss on the cheek, which couldn't be considered a kiss at all when it only was a soft brush of lips against skin.

And yet, Emma didn't pull away making excuses. In fact, she snuggled closer, wrapping her arms awkwardly around him to make sure he was still there.

«Easy, lass,» he said breathless, glee on his face as well as a bright pink blush, only to be cut off by Emma's lips.

Shock shot all through her system as she realized what she was doing, pushing it away in favour of savoring the moment.

The kiss didn’t involve tongues or teeth, it wasn’t charged with lust, only with deep relief and a sense of completeness.

Killian’s fingers tightened their grip in her hair without being less gentle, pulling her impossibly closer since she already was half thrown over him.

Since they were not vampires or water creatures capable of holding their breaths for long, at some point they had to pull away so their lungs would stop screaming at them with such ardor they seemed to be burning.

The Prince of Hell, who’d now turned around to take a better look at them, head tilted to the side and the ghost of a smile on his thin lips, politely coughed loudly enough to catch their attention.

With her face burning as hotly as the flames that had surrounded Fenrir and Belial earlier, if not more, Emma pushed herself up, legs trembling a bit as she helped Killian up as well.

Now that she could take a better look at him, Emma searched his body for more signs of his true nature and wounds. Thankfully, the hellhound’s bite was the only scar he would have. Unless…

Her palm tingled, and when she looked down at it, her eyes were met with a soft glowing light.

As if he’d read her mind, Killian wrapped strong fingers around her wrists in a gentle hold, bringing them up to cover his forearm.

No word was spoken as her magic flowed out of her and poured into the wound, healing it. Wonder shone in her green eyes: never before had she like she did now, both like she had a purpose and a place in the world. Balanced. Complete.

«You are bloody brilliant.»

Killian’s words broke her out of her reverie, and when she looked up at him, the deep red gracing the apples of her cheeks matched the one colouring the tips of his ears. Before she could stop herself, Emma’s eyes travelled up, taking in the horns. Her shy smile widened into a teasing one.

«They suit you.»

This time, the one to smile bashfully was Killian.

The second cough was only slightly less polite and a bit more pointed. «I apologize for intruding, but I’m afraid there are important matters to be discussed.»

Both Emma and Killian blushed even redder; it felt like being caught making out by their parents, something neither knew about aside from watching movies or reading books. Then she gasped, looking over at Robin and Will. Before Emma could even open her mouth to ask about them, two deep voices replied to her unspoken question: «They are under a sleeping spell.»

With a polite smile, Belial added: «There are truths that are only yours to tell and which you alone need to hear first.»

Emma nodded, as if in a trance. She just hoped it wasn’t an _actual_ trance. Demons could seduce, not exactly enchant, but she’d never actually met one. She sneaked a peek at Fenrir, who was sitting next to the demon, his expression, if possible, amused. It even seemed he was grinning, and even if he wasn’t, the glint in his blood red eyes was unmistakable.

When she finally looked at Belial, Emma felt her breath catch. The similarity was unmistakable, from the colours to the features, even the way he pursed his lips to conceal a smile. The shape of their eyes was slightly different, but not the blue captured in their irises, even though Emma knew from many testimonies and studies that the eyes of a demon were pitch black and had no irises or pupils of sorts, just two black holes which threatened to swallow whoever had the misfortune of looking into them whole. This must’ve been some kind of courtesy Belial was offering her. She couldn’t say she minded at all.

«Son,» Belial greeted him with a nod of his head, and Emma’s eyes snapped from the high cheekbones that matched Killian’s, to the horns she could finally see. They were bigger than Killian’s, but had the same shape.

«Father.» Killian’s tone wasn’t rude: in fact, it even sounded grateful. So of course he had to ruin the moment: «Glad you showed up, this time.»

There were some falsehoods about demons having steam blowing out of their ears when they were infuriated, and though Belial _was_ furious, he simply clenched his teeth, lips almost disappearing in a thin line.

«I am as well,» he gritted out slowly, shoulders sagging in what looked like defeat. A sigh followed, and Emma was certain he would run a hand through his hair hadn’t it been tied. «I can never apologize enough for not being there, Killian, and I know my excuse will fall on deaf ears, but I truly am sorry.»

Instinctively, Emma squeezed Killian’s forearm. Trying to buy him some time to come at peace with his feelings, she decided to attempt to sort out her own. «So, uhm, I guess the obvious question is… what the fuck did just happened?»

«You see, love-»

«You killed your own mother.»

All blood drained from her face. Having a suspicion about who Gothel was wasn’t anything like hearing the truth.

Next to her, Killian went rigid, probably staring daggers at his father, who was still looking at Emma.

The demon shrugged a shoulder. «Technically, you vanished her, but Gothel was your mother.»

«Crazy bit- uhm, witch ghost was-»

Belial stifled a chuckle. «Aye, she was. I suppose she said-»

«She said your- uhm, Killian’s mother stole you from her, and I think she was involved with her coven of crazy girls who you, uhm, turned into ash or something. I think. And then Killian said-» Emma suddenly cut herself off, biting her lower lip a bit too forcefully. She was rambling, and probably - read: surely - breaking some etiquette rule - or several - she should follow when speaking with high-ranked demons, but the weight of the day was finally taking a toll on her and she just couldn’t help being a bit snarky. Or try to laugh about it so she could overthink and cry about it in the solitude of her apartment, preferably with a mug of hot chocolate and loads of ice cream.

Killian gave her a small smile that shouldn’t have been so soft and shouldn’t be touching her heart the way it was, especially not before painful words started to tumble from his lips. «Gothel showed up in my life first, about thirty years or so after the fallout with my mother. She was pretending to be a damsel in distress, you know the type, and I foolishly fell into her honey trap. She was nice to me, but belonging to the supernatural world means keeping regular human beings at arm’s length, no matter how eager to know and belong to it they seem to be. I kept her distant, but she kept showing up and being gentle with me to the point I didn’t know what to do with her. I even asked Liam for help, what with him having more experience in the field than me, and he would come around the shop often-»

Emma’s brow wrinkled. «Shop?»

«Oh, right,» Killian mumbled, scratching _that_ spot behind his ear. «Uhm, timeline-wise, this happened in the 80s, as in _your_ 1980, or one or two year after, though time runs differently, and I owned what you’d call a blacksmith shop… Don’t be so shocked, love, between my mom being a witch and my father being a demon, it should’ve been obvious by now that I’m quite old even if I’ve retained my youthful glow.» He even had the audacity to _smirk_. Oh, how she wanted to smack it off his face.

_Or kiss it off of it_.

Yup, the latter. Definitely the latter.

Ignoring the voice in her head and the sparkle in Killian’s eyes telling her he _knew_ what she was thinking, Emma raised her chin. «Okay, old man, so- Oh my god. This is _disgusting_. You… please tell me nothing happened between you and… _her_.»

Thinking of the man you’ve fallen in love with - oh, yeah, she _had_ fallen in love with him during her time in Storybrooke, and it wasn’t the ley lines’ doing, nothing magical, just pure, scary _love_ \- with another woman was torture enough already, but thinking of him with your own mother was seriously threatening to make Emma sick.

The warmth of Killian’s hand on the side of her face brought her back to reality, back to him, and when his eyes bore into hers, she felt relief sweeping through her. She sneaked one arm around his thorax and squeezed him tightly to her.

Killian dropped a kiss on her hair, which was surely a mess and now was not the time to think about a shower with him to get the dirt out of it. «Nothing happened. As I said, I was keeping her at arm’s length. When Liam saw her, he knew why I was asking for help. For some reason, Gothel stopped coming in. My best theory, she saw she had no opening with me and even my brother was unapproachable.» He licked his lips, averting his gaze. «I didn’t see her for almost two years, and during that time, Mum brought me on a mission with her.»

Clearly picking up his son’s uneasiness, Belial continued for him, and Killian shot him a tight but grateful smile. «Gothel was a very powerful witch. If you’d been raised by her, or at least one of your kind, you would’ve learned better how hierarchies inside the witch world and, more importantly, inside a coven, work. She wasn’t just one of the oldest, but she was the one who’d held her title as head of her own coven, of _Mother_, as she called herself, longer than her predecessors and any of the other leaders in all the realms. It surprises me that she only ever had one child, but she also waited centuries before trying to summon me.» He shrugged, as if he didn’t have a clear explanation of how Gothel’s mind worked himself. «Her motivations escape me, perhaps she had foreseen her demise was near. The fact is, she suddenly abandoned her old plan of summoning another demon knowing all too well they’d be ready to take her out even bound by spells and seals, but didn’t let go of her original plan. She did have a baby, a baby born right on the twelfth stroke of midnight, a little girl she was ready to raise not like a daughter, but like a pawn in her own twisted game.»

Emma gulped, the amount of information being dumped onto her already too much to bear. She leaned into Killian, thankful for his presence and support. With all she’d heard, she probably should stay away from him, and yet she just couldn’t. If anything, all Emma wanted was to stay as close to him as humanly possible.

Next to her, Killian sighed, turning his head slightly to bury his nose in her hair. «Mum was always one step ahead of Gothel, therefore she knew about you and planned to get you as far away from her as possible.»

Guilt was laced tightly to his voice, and Emma knew why. All her life, she’d thought her parents never wanted her, and oh, how many scenarios had she played out in her mind to justify them? And now, everything made sense, the puzzle was complete, and all she felt was… nothing. Or… not quite nothing. She still felt many other things, namely the deep affection and need and want to take care of Killian, but deep inside, all those scars that growing up alone in the system had left her with, simply stayed the same. They didn’t reopen, they stayed as they were, existing, because there was no way she could change the past, but now she knew the truth, and well, if she had to feel something, that something was gratitude.

True, she _had_ grown up alone, and it was awful and horrible but it shaped her into the woman she was now, a woman she decided to be with all her flaws and strengths, and not a pawn, not _nothing_.

Later, later she knew she would cry and scream and Killian would probably have to duck to avoid anything she might throw at him, but now, now she felt relief: even just the idea of growing up as Gothel’s pawn filled Emma with absolute despair.

«What happened that night?»

What, for now, was more strange than anything else, was thinking that Killian was already an adult when she was born and that, apparently, he came from another land. She wondered if he’d ever go back. Or if he’d ever take her there.

A muscle in Killian’s jaw ticked. «My task was to keep the coven asleep and blocking the wards. Demon’s magic is tricky, darker than any other you’ll ever encounter; not even those witches who practice dark magic could ever handle it. I used my abilities to allow Mum to take you away without alarming the witches. And she did it. We managed to bring you to a safe haven where Mum proceeded to seal your magic, the only method to keep Gothel from finding you, a taboo in the witch world, one that had to be broken to ensure your safety.» He licked his lips, stalling for a moment, debating whether or not to give her this last bit of information. «We didn’t know your name, so Mum decided on one before letting you go. Widow Lucas, the werewolf who runs the shelter, stitched the baby blanket you were found in. You stayed hidden with us for almost two weeks before we moved you. It was agreed that you'd be sent to this realm, to the Land Without Magic. Liam was tasked to bring you through the portal and to a family we knew would welcome you and raise you as if you were their own.»

Hurt came in waves, lapping at her heart at first, and then proceeding to drown it in sorrow with the force of a tumultuous sea.

She was supposed to have a family.

She was supposed to be loved.

Tears welled in her eyes, tears born out of injustice, because the life she'd lived wasn't the one she was supposed to.

A look into Killian's baby blues was all it took.

The breath caught in her throat, one lone tear traced a slow path down her cheek, and acceptance bloomed like a flower into her.

Perhaps her past should've been different, but the outcome would've been the same: Emma Swan had a family and, above all, Emma Swan was loved.

It didn't matter that she was loved by a bunch of guys that might very well try to kill her once they knew the truth, just as it didn't matter that the man she loved and hoped loved her in return - and not just like a friend - was a half demon. She smirked, inwardly laughing at Gothel and her belief that demons couldn’t love: had she really known Killian, she would’ve seen how he loved his friends.

Ignoring Belial - who was mostly amused by her action - Emma raised on her tiptoes and pressed a gentle kiss to the corner of Killian's mouth, squeezing him in an awkward embrace neither broke out of.

After a deep breath, Emma heard herself asking in a shaky breath: «What happened next?» In truth, she didn't want to hear more of it, but she needed to, and she'd learned all too well that what she wanted and what she needed weren't often the same.

«The coven tracked down Liam.» Pain twisted his features as he spoke those words aloud. Emma squeezed his hand. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Belial hung his head in what she could only call sorrow. «They were late: he'd already opened the portal, but to ensure you'd make it safely to the Land Without Magic, Liam sent you through it and defeated the witches. Without his guidance, however, the ley lines diverted your path and led you to Storybrooke, the most unusual and magically charged place in this world.»

Emma nodded, slowly, realizing why Killian was looking right into her eyes, searching for something he was sure to find. Had she been in his shoes, she might have had the same thought as well.

Certainly letting her go through the portal alone was stupid, and more than that, it'd been dangerous, but he'd managed to fend off those witches so none of them could reach her.

«That was when they cursed him,» Belial said in a grave voice. There was hatred in it, both for the witches and for himself. «He didn't call for me, but I should've been there. At the time, Hell was in riot, and Lucifer needed all his trusted demons to contain the civil war before it escalated.»

Emma nodded, understanding how torn he must feel, how guilt had dug a hole inside of him for too long. But it wasn’t Emma’s understanding or forgiveness that he needed, and she was in no position to ask Killian to bury the hatchet.

Killian cleared his throat. «Curses don’t work the same way on demons that they do humans. Normally, a true demon would be immune, but Liam was only half demon, and that was part of his undoing. Me and Mum brought him home, searching for a cure for what looked like a sleeping curse but was different in so many ways it looked a concoction of spells we couldn’t decipher or break.»

The rustling of leaves was the only sound Belial made as he got closer, a clear warning and a way to let Killian decide whether he wanted to stay where he was or move as far away as possible.

Next to her, Killian exhaled. Running away didn’t solve a thing, and it was about time he faced his father.

Blue eyes, just like Killian’s, showed nothing but anguish. «Son, there was nothing that could help Liam. I’d already spoken to Alice, and the only plausible solution was to make him a full demon. That way, he would’ve been able to repel the curse.»

«But I was too desperate, and was fooled by Gothel’s words about a miraculous plant that could cure all evils.» Killian hung his head, but before Emma could comfort him, two strong hands grabbed his shoulders.

«Listen to me, son. You made a mistake in judging her character, aye, but it isn’t your fault. None of what happened is. It’s time you move on and stop blaming yourself. It was Gothel who killed Liam and Alice, not you. She would’ve found another way, and you might have not been able to kill her before she killed you. What you did was heroic. There’s no great battle in which both sides don’t lose, my son. You held yourself together after losing your whole family and didn’t seek revenge on the coven, no matter how much I’m sure you desired to. This, my boy, makes you the man you are now. Not a demon, not a witch, a man, the kind of man you always wanted to be»

Silently, Emma wiped away a few tears threatening to fall, though she almost lost all self-control she had when Killian launched himself into his father’s arms and hugged him tightly. She _completely_ lost it when she heard Killian whisper “_thank you, Papa_”.

Something soft and warm brushed against her arm before the wet nose of the hellhound nudged it away so she could only loop it around Fenrir’s neck. «Hey, there, boy,» she smiled down at him.

«It doesn’t surprise me that he found you first.»

Emma frowned at Belial’s words. _Demons, always speaking in riddles even when you ask them something simple._ She was reminded of Killian, and that should’ve probably been a dead giveaway.

Belial smiled. «You have my son’s scent all over you, his hellhound was easily sidetracked by it. Besides, you had a faint trace of Alice’s magic in you, which didn’t help tracking down the right person either.»

There would be a day in which such words would have no effect on Emma, but today was not that day, especially given the way her cheeks coloured red. It should make her feel dirty or, well, almost like an object, but instead it made her feel butterflies in her stomach. She was totally screwed. _Not at all_, her traitor mind reminded her.

«I-I heard Alice’s voice, I think,» she stuttered, ignoring that voice in her head. She turned to Killian, brows knitting together. «And yours. You two kept telling me that magic is emotion.»

Her heart fell a little as Killian frowned, clearly confused.

«Ley lines.»

They both turned to look at Belial, who shrugged, pointing a manicured hand towards the sky.

_Holy fuck_.

During all her time as a huntress, Emma had seen the ley lines only on maps, but now she could _see_ them crossing the sky above her head, blue lines she could even _hear_.

«They work in mysterious ways, as you both well know. And with Storybrooke being at the very center of a crossroad, even the tiniest spark of magic is amplified. They must’ve picked up Alice’s magic and managed to give you a message, Emma. You might’ve not heeded it rationally, but it still helped you banish Gothel.»

Slowly understanding what he meant, Emma nodded her head again, fingers threading through Fenrir’s fur. Then, she turned towards Killian, trying not to sound as accusatory as she did in her head. «Did you know who I was when we first met?»

Pure, earnest honesty was the only emotion on his face when he shook his head. «I did feel your magic, which I admit, was strange since it was supposed to be sealed, but I had no idea you were the baby I helped my mum take away all those years ago. Only when I broke the spell she cast on you I realized it, a bit too late, given I had no time to warn you.» Killian sighed, scratching again that spot behind his ear, now surely raw. «I apologize for not telling you about your magic. I just-»

«You just didn’t know how, I understand.» And she really did. Even for someone who’d hunted down several different creatures, Emma would’ve not believed him had he told her she had magic. Hell, she was still struggling to believe what had just happened!

The grateful, bashful smile he shot her way warmed her heart.

Then, the wind changed.

«It is time for me to go, I’m being called back.» Belial didn’t want to go just yet, that much was clear. It was unfair how little time him and Killian had had to mend their still fragile relationship.

Killian arched an eyebrow. «Is it true that Uncle Lucifer has taken a vacation?»

_Uncle Lucifer? _That_ Lucifer?!_

«Ah, yes, that much is true. He also fell in love with a miracle.» Belial tilted his head, amused. «I knew he would, and was one of the few to win the bet.»

At that, Killian snorted. «Of course. I would’ve placed the same bet, knowing him, and knowing demons can fall in love. After all, I’m proof of that, am I not?» And if he glanced at Emma as if saying “_because I’m fallen in love as well_” and she’d caught him, her hand squeezing his was confirmation enough.

Flames danced in Belial’s palm, retracting under his skin to reveal an old flask. «This is the ale of Seonaidh. Use it well, my boy, though I believe your mother’s grimoire contains instructions on how to brew it.»

Killian looked at the flask in wonder before clutching it to his chest. «Would- would you like to use it with me, when the time is right?»

Belial appeared to be taken aback by those words, barely containing a gasp of surprise. After the shock wore off, he nodded slowly. «I would like that very much.»

A nod from Killian to which followed another tight and long embrace signaled them it was time to get back to reality, or what was left of it after it’d been revolutionized in a matter of seconds.

Even if awkwardly, Emma offered Belial her hand to shake, only to have him bend slightly in a bow and brush his lips on the back of it. Blood rushed to her face, boiling beneath her skin. Of course

«I bid you farewell, Emma. It was a pleasure meeting you, even if in such dire circumstances.»

_Please, take care of my son_.

A gasp of surprise almost fell from her lips upon hearing the demon’s voice inside her head. Affection and deep love transpired, affecting her a bit. She nodded slightly so Killian wouldn’t notice. She would take care of him, knowing all too well he could take care of himself, but she could still support him and just be there. That was what taking care of someone really meant: being by their side all through their life, mistakes and all.

Belial disappeared in a vortex of flames, and this time the earth didn’t shake or anything. Perhaps it hadn’t been just the opening of the portal. Perhaps it’d been Emma.

She hummed at the thought, shaking her head slightly before turning to face Killian completely.

«So, that was Brennan Jones, uh?»

Killian flashed her a smile, dimples and all and oh, boy, was she _swooning_? Now of all the times? «He couldn’t very well go by Belial, could he? But aye, that was him. I’d not seen him since I yelled my disdain at him. I even tried to curse him, you know? And he just stayed there. I knew it was useless anyway, but I’ll never forget how defeated he looked.»

She squeezed his arm. «You both stayed alone when you should’ve mourned together. I hope you’ll be able to forgive him, one day.»

Killian nodded. Perhaps he wasn’t ready to forgive him yet, but now he understood his father more than ever before. Especially when it came to love.

Caught in Killian’s intense stare, Emma felt her heartbeat increase in speed. «How long until the spell wears off?» she asked wetting her lower lip, nodding slightly towards Will and Robin.

He never looked away from her eyes. «Give or take, a few minutes. Time to decide what to tell them, love.»

Ah, right, the whole witch thing. Taking a deep breath, Emma squared her shoulders. «Part of the truth, for now. I’m still processing the whole Gothel thing, and that will take me some time. And I need to do this by myself, without risking to be burned alive or hung by my own friends.»

Next to her, Fenrir growled, surprising them both. Emma chuckled, scratching him behind the ear.

«Should’ve known you’d steal his heart, too,» Killian mumbled barely loud enough for her to hear, which probably wasn’t his intention given the way the tips of his ears lit up like Christmas lights.

For her part, Emma blushed as well, her eyes never leaving the thick fur her hand had disappeared into as she whispered: «And he’s not the only demonic creature that has stolen mine.»

When textbooks said demons were lustful creatures, driven by Hell flames flowing through their veins, they weren’t far from the truth.

A low moan resounded deep in her throat as Killian’s lips pressed almost violently against hers, crushing her much smaller body into his.

Lips and tongues brushed frantically against the other, Killian’s mouth swallowing her moans as his hands wandered up and down her back before stopping at her hips to pull her impossibly closer.

Emma’s hands never stopped either, tracing his chest up until she could wrap her arms around Killian’s neck and bury her fingers in his hair, tugging not so gently at the strands.

She could feel desire mounting like a galloping horse, teeth pulling at Killian’s swollen lower lip. It was scary how much she felt like she needed him, and yet it felt completely normal. Truth was, she might even go a bit insane if she didn’t have him soon. Was it a side effect of being a witch? Did she really care, though?

And then the tip of her finger brushed accidentally the base of one of Killian’s horns and he was run through by what felt like electric energy, so intense it reverberated through Emma’s body as well.

Killian shivered, head burying itself at the juncture of Emma’s neck. «Careful, love,» he panted, his hot breath causing her skin to burn, «they are quite… _sensitive_.»

_Fuck_. It was Emma’s turn to shiver. Perhaps she could just try how teleportation worked.

She was just about to suggest it to Killian when a groan echoed in the clearing. Of bloody course the spell would wear off in that precise moment.

Luckily enough, Will had Fenrir to keep him distracted so Emma and Killian could adjust their clothes.

Alas, they had no such luck when Robin woke up as well. At least he had the decency to look away, not before winking at them.

Feeling like two children caught with their fingers in the marmalade jar, half-demon and witch stayed rooted to the spot, side by side with not an inch between them and faces as red as beets as Will enjoyed all the attention Fenrir was giving him and Robin wandered around whistling some tune as he retrieved his arrows.

Low, so low they friends couldn’t hear, Emma whispered: «Please tell me there’s a way for you to conceal your horns from others but not me.»

The smirk and glance he gave her was the truest definition of lewd. «The lady likes me horns, doesn’t she?»

She clicked her tongue. «The lady fucking _loves_ them.»

Killian nearly burst out laughing, his whole face lighting up in happiness. He pressed a kiss to Emma’s temple, mumbling something about them being his love handles that made her hide her head in his chest.

Fenrir caught his eyes, one huge paw still holding Will to the ground in their little game, and winked.

Killian chuckled, winking back before calling the hellhound to him.  
It was time they went home.

All three of them.


End file.
